


drifting among angels and satellites

by psithurism



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, all the hugs, s04e01 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psithurism/pseuds/psithurism
Summary: In which Tony is alone in a faraway place, and across the universe, Steve misses him.





	drifting among angels and satellites

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So the season 3 finale of AA destroyed me irrevocably and I really had the implacable urge to write something for it, my own fix-it contribution, which will inevitably get Jossed anyway, but I need to get it out of my system no matter what, haha. I haven't watched the latest episode yet, and I'm very excited for it, but I was holding off so I can finish this little thing lol
> 
> Title and segment titles are from Eric Gamalinda's poem, "Rampart". Tony deserves all the hugs, right?
> 
> So, yeah, enjoy!

_i. lying in someone’s bed_

There were days when Steve could pretend that everything was normal.

If he closed his eyes and let himself imagine, for a moment, Steve could pretend that Tony was still here, only across the country, perhaps in California on a prolonged SI-related trip, attracting investors, spearheading a project, driving the board into a collective hypertension; that their conversations were through a cellular phone and not an interdimensional communicator. It helped that they’re currently based in an old SHIELD facility; the Avengers Tower would only make it more difficult for him to ignore the distinct lack.

It was easier that way, too—pretending. It wasn’t like the world would order a cease-fire just because Tony had gone on a necessary exile; the Avengers were still needed, always relevant during these times. Except there had been times when Steve, in the heat of a battle, would leap off a building, waiting for an armor of red and gold to catch him mid-fall; or would raise his shield to deflect repulsor beams towards his enemies; or would expect to hear a witty remark after knocking down all his targets in a single skim of his shield. For a split second Steve would wonder why the expected response failed to come about, but then he would _remember_ , and suddenly he’s seized by a liquid ache that spilled down to his bones, drying and sticking like glue.

There was nothing he could do during those times; the battlefield was a place for action, not sentiment, and duty always came first.

But in the refuge of his quarters, Steve would give in, and the heavy weight of the absence hurt.

He couldn’t lose hope. He believed in Tony, whose unparalleled mind could get him out of any dire situation. He believed in his team, who would do everything to find a solution for Tony’s plight. There hadn’t yet been anything the Avengers didn’t overcome, and they wouldn’t start now.

They’d get him back.

He’d get Tony home.

Of course, that was before the new Cabal destroyed their only means of saving Tony.

 

 

_ii. such stillness in the air_

In this vast expanse of forever twilight, time crystallizes into a standstill.

Snow-white dunes that extend as far as the eye can see, layered in a way that they provide an illusion of ceaseless undulations. At first, Tony tracks the time by counting seconds, minutes, hours in his head, and by the twelfth hour he realizes the futility of the action when nothing’s changed around him. The sky above is a perpetual transition into night, and when he squints his eyes, the stars remain frozen mid-twinkle.

Nothing lives in this pocket space made solely for him. A customized prison, by any other name.

He walks, because anything’s better than falling into the crevices of loneliness, and there’s still Ultron to consider. Conquering the arc reactor is Ultron’s greatest triumph, metal made flesh, the most remarkable irony, indeed.

And, salt to the wound: the only thing that’s keeping him alive is _magic_.

This is what happens when you trap a being made up of numbers and electronic signals—the future on the flipside.

The direction of science has always been forward, each step bursting with new knowledge, new discoveries, a steady progress. Tony moves in congruence with it, ever the futurist, eyes set on the horizon of possibilities, a neverending goal.

But in this barren wasteland, Tony drifts, aimless.

 

 

_iii. avenues and dead-ends_

When he sought Doctor Strange’s advice again, Steve didn’t expect for the discussion to happen _over tea_ and go something like this:

“It is true that recently there have been a noticeable shift in some of the dimensions, but we cannot say for certain that Tony Stark remains in the same dimension I created for him.”

“You sent him there yourself; you should know if he’s still there or if he’s jumped into another universe.”

“And even if I can locate him and get him back, don’t forget why I sent him away in the first place.”

A grudging pause. “Ultron.”

Strange nodded. “If he comes back, and Ultron is still within him, then Ultron will only take over and cause you pain again.”

Strange had a point, and Steve hated it, but he had to persevere. “Is there another way?”

It was a while before Strange answered. He waved his hand to replenish his cup and took a long, satisfying sip that had Steve tighten his grip on his armrest in impatience. “I will tell you when I find it.”

He knew that there’s nothing left to discuss further, ideas exhausted at the moment, so Steve rose to take his leave, thanking Strange for his time and hospitality.

“I don’t intend for you to lose hope, Captain. But perhaps the answer you seek lies in Tony Stark himself. Have faith, Captain Rogers, and all will be well.”

Steve blinked. “Of course. Good day, Doctor Strange.”

Later, Steve would dream of that dusk-toned prism, glittered with specks of faraway stars, and across the plane, Tony reaching out to him but failing, hand pressing hopelessly against an invisible barrier, unable to touch.

 

 

_iv. the stars grow ever more invisible_

Eventually this pocket dimension Stephen Strange created for him starts to crumple on itself.

The air around Tony shifts and the cold creeps on his exposed face like pinpricks of ice marching up his skin. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of shattering glass in crescendo, and all around him, flashes of what Tony can only describe as patches of space being ripped away, revealing bright blobs that sharpen into distinct shapes.

Places. Other universes.

His connection with the Avengers may have snapped off, but Tony refuses to remain idle, and relying on others for solutions to his problems has never been his style. This, then, is his world: purpose, pressure, and his mind—the resourceful Tony Stark who can solve any problem, who can create something out of whatever scraps are available to him, who is an Avenger through and through. Ultron is but a problem to be solved, interdimensional traversing a challenge to surmount, and Earth to come home to.

In the midst of all this, a memory surfaces before him: Steve and his wide grin, his eyes emphasized by the strip of light passing through the vents, and his voice, all iron conviction— _You’re tough as they come. You invented hardcore. The Avengers are lucky you’re on our side._

And this, too: Ultron absorbing the infinity stones, powering himself with all the possibilities.

Tony stops. A nebulous idea starts to solidify in his mind, but he’s still uncertain given the way Ultron devoured the stones. It doesn’t matter—one always has to start somewhere. And if this worked ... well, then.

Thoroughly decided, Tony inhales, the sound like metal catching, and dismantles his armor.

 

 

_v. my words are late apologies_

A click, an exhale, and Tony went online.

Before the lost connection, before Tony’s voice disappeared into the ether, there had been nights when Steve, unable to sleep, plagued by cold dreams and the anxiety of the future, sat in front of the console, while the rest of the team had retired to their rooms. Tony’s voice had always possessed an airy lilt whenever he talked, and, when it’s only the two of them, a warmth that’s shaping his words, suffusing their conversations with a certain levity that made their banters enjoyable.

This time, however, all of those vocal qualities had been absent.

“I feel like I’ve been walking for a very long time,” Tony began, forgoing his usual witty greeting. “How long has it been?”

The lack of energy in Tony’s voice caused Steve to pause, and something that felt like ice prickled on the back of his neck. “Are you all right, Tony?” he asked. And: “Three months.”

It was silent for a while, perhaps contemplative at the other end, but that only worried Steve for its distinctive lack of rapid-fire quips.

“Three months?” Tony finally said, vague amusement coloring his tone. “I wouldn’t have realized. It’s always dusk here. Time’s frozen; it’s unsettling.”

“We’re working on a way to get you back,” Steve assured him. “Doctor Foster is nearly finished with—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” A pause. Then, in a strange, quiet voice, like revealing a close-kept secret: “I miss seeing the sunrise.”

And something in Steve shattered, the shards filling his veins, threatening to cut his skin in their attempt to escape. Tony had always been an unstoppable force in all things, and for him to falter, stutter to a halt like a malfunctioning machine engendered in Steve a particular glimmer of yearning. A hand on Tony’s shoulder, an encouraging smile, lengthy words of praises and encouragement that Steve could already write a book out of. And it wasn’t fair that he could do only one right now, that he couldn’t do all of them, because Tony deserved everything Steve would willingly give him.

“Listen, Tony,” Steve began, injecting as much certainty as he could, “Don’t lose hope just yet. You are going to get out of there. With your brilliant mind and our resources, you’re going to get home. It’s going to take a bit more time, but we’ll get through this. I promise.”

And it _was_ a promise, a sword offered by outstretched hands, blade gleaming under the blinding sun.

“I know, Cap; I believe you,” Tony said, and his tone, Steve knew, held the shape of a nascent smile. “I’ll hold on to that promise.”

Oh, if only Steve could believe his own words now.

 

 

_vi. i’m more than light made visible_

The most surprising thing about it all is that it _worked_.

He arrives in what seems to be—as expected—in the middle of a fight. This time, it’s aliens. Tony can’t recognize what kind they are, and it’ll be in a bit when FRIDAY goes completely online in his armor. At least they aren’t robots; Tony just got back, and as far as he’s concerned, he’s not ready for an Ultron 3.0 just yet.

Looking at the battle site shows that the Avengers have the upper-hand in combat but not in numbers; the stream of aliens coming and fighting seems to be endless. Hawkeye and Black Widow are in the flying car, Natasha at the wheel and Clint shooting arrows at every alien that manages to climb onto the vehicle. Falcon’s on evacuation duty, occasionally firing at the aliens that approach civilians, while Thor and Hulk have the privilege of knocking down the bulk of the rushing enemies.

And then there’s Steve, barking out orders and throwing his shield at his targets. A few feet away, a couple of aliens are aiming a projectile weapon at him.

Tony’s voice is quick, but his body is faster. “Cap, look out!”

He blasts the enemies with his repulsor beam, dives in to grab Steve, narrowly missing the energy projectile by a hair’s breadth, and flies away.

Steve turns his head and does a double-take. “ _Tony?!_ ”

It’s been so long since Tony’s heard Steve’s voice, unfiltered by the comm link, that his heart stutters for a couple of seconds. Under the helmet, Tony grins. “D’ya miss me, Cap?”

Somewhere above him, a disbelieving squawk that suspiciously sounds like Hawkeye: “Stark?!”

In his arms, Steve shakes his head and says, “Later—first we have to locate the portal that allows these army of aliens to enter, and then we close it. Think you’re up for the job?”

“Piece of cake, Cap. I’ll scan the area for energy signatures that are similar to the one I—aaand got it.” A beat. “Avengers Tower. _Seriously?_ ”

Tony hears Steve snicker, and he deliberately narrowly dodges a spear heading their way. “ _Tony!_ ” Steve yells.

Tony laughs, because of course Steve knows Tony’s pulling his legs. “Cut me some slack, Cap. It _has_ been a while.” A moment passes, and then, quietly: “I _have_ missed this.”

Steve doesn’t reply, and before Tony prods him, the shimmering metallic colors of the Avengers Tower enter his vision.

It takes five minutes for them to close the portal and thirty minutes to take care of the stragglers stuck on the ground. Faceplate up, Tony steps back from the remains of a mangled cycle, looks at the scene before him, and spreads his arms wide. “And that’s that. I’m officially back in—”

He doesn’t finish, because Steve is suddenly on him, arms wrapped around Tony, tight and trembling, head digging into the crook of his neck, and Tony, fleetingly, wishes he’s out of his armor for this.

“Cap—” he starts.

Steve shudders and expires a sigh. “I thought—” he begins. Aborts halfway. Another shuddering sigh.

“Cap?”

“I’ve missed you _so much_ , Tony,” Steve says, his voice hoarse and strained, like a dam close to bursting.

He’s imagined, once or twice in that starlit space, how his reunion with Steve would transpire. A clap on the shoulder, a shake of hands, a smile one foot away, and perhaps a _Welcome back, Iron Man_. But not _this_. This tightweave coil fraying at the edges, vibrating with the tension wrought by months of wanting without respite. Steve’s shaking, minutely, and Tony places a gauntleted hand on the exposed skin between the helmet and uniform collar.

“I missed you too, Steve,” Tony says, gentle, “And I’m here now, and I—”

And he doesn’t finish again, because now all the Avengers are piling up on him.

“TIN MAN BACK. GROUP HUG!” Hulk roars.

“Indeed, my friend! There is much to celebrate!” Thor booms at his right.

“You owe us a lot of pizza, Shellhead,” Clint says somewhere behind him, tucked under Hulk’s armpit and Tony’s shoulder. “Ow, Hulk, that’s my spleen!”

“Glad to have you back, Tony,” Natasha says, curt, but Tony recognizes the undercurrent of relief and warmth in her tone.

“It wasn’t the same without you,” Sam says, right above him.

And this, right here, is what he’s been missing all this time when he was unmoored and drifting alone in that faraway land of empty silence, rife with the shadows of the irreparable.

But he shouldn’t dwell on it any longer. That’s already in the past; that’s the before. Here is now.

Steve lifts his head and looks at Tony, his smile the sunrise he’s been longing for months. “Welcome home, Tony.”

And everything slots into place. Tony smiles back.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *goes to watch episode 17 now*


End file.
